I am stationed on the plains of Merazod today. A vast expanse of flat land littered with wild flowers and roaming ghost herds of roon. A scout has been sent ahead to locate the enemy encampment. With such a flat landscape you would think we could see each other coming from miles away. However, this cursed land is filled with deep wounds, pits in the ground that run like veins which are covered with only a thin-film of mud that the enemy uses as cover for their ambushes. I hope the scout returns this time. He has my favorite pack of playing cards on him.
You may wonder why it is that I keep writing in this journal when there are obviously so many more pressing matters veying for my attention. It is simple really. I have no choice.
I could no more stop writing than I could stop breathing. Some people go through life with nary a thought in their heads but for the immediate moment or a list of remembrances logged away for the shopping store, work, or family activity. My mind works differently. I am constantly coming up with new ideas to log into my journal. Sparks to my imagination are found in the headlines of the day or the people living their lives around me. Multiple stories swirl before my eyes as beginnings, endings or middles. Characters are invented and stashed away to memory or jotted hastily down for future story lines. It’s really no wonder that my head doesn’t explode like a firecracker on Darby Day.
You would think I may find some respite in between writing stories but I have no time for that. It is always on to the next creative endeavor. You may think I should be exhausted by this never-ending barrage of words and ideas but the opposite is true. Beginning the sketch of a new story in my brain is invigorating. That is most likely the reason I have difficulty sometimes finishing one body of work before starting a next. The mob of tales in my brain constantly trudge up the steep mountain to the gothic castle above with their staves aflame and pitchforks in hand to press against the iron gates and scramble for entrance.
I hear their screams of righteous anger now. I must leave you.
Brandon Jimison 